


Guided

by bad_peppermint



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Animal Transformation, Blind Character, Disability, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:16:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3283349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_peppermint/pseuds/bad_peppermint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles - telepath, youngest tenured Columbia professor of all time, blind - is very happy with his life. Or he was, until someone turned his guide dog into a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guided

**Author's Note:**

> For this year's X-Men ReverseBang, I was lucky enough to get art by the wonderfully talented [Chuuchi](http://chuuchichu.deviantart.com/). It's posted at the beginning of the story and it is beau-ti-ful, don't tell me you don't love it. Go share your adoration at the masterpost [here](http://chuuland.tumblr.com/post/110406419792/xmen-reverse-big-bang-my-art-prompt-for-the-lj). Thanks for the opportunity, dahlin. I had a blast writing.
> 
> THANK YOU to [snootiegirl](http://snootiegirl.livejournal.com/) for a beta so thorough it made me want to tear all my hair out, but improved the story approximately x 1000. Thank you thank you thank you. I seriously rewrote about half of the entire thing and it is so. much. better now.
> 
> And thanks to everybody over at [xmenreversebang](http://xmenreversebang.livejournal.com) for standing with me in times of trial and giving me the opportunity to explore so many exciting stories, and look at so much gorgeous art.
> 
> \---
> 
> There are some comments regarding beastiality in this fic. Charles violently rejects the idea. Nobody is having any sex with animals. Nobody's judging your kink. Charles does not want to contemplate the idea of sex with HIS dog, and that's his right.

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/CagedTroll/media/GbQsfkm.png.html)

_August_

Max _hated_ Logan.

It was unfortunate, really, because Charles liked Logan quite a bit. Logan was broad (sexy), brash (sexy), and had never experienced so much as a shred of pity for Charles’ condition (very sexy). He had loud, honest thoughts, many of which featured him and Charles in various stages of horizontalness, and when he thought about bending Charles over, or bending over for Charles, he never seemed to worry about Charles being too delicate, or too helpless, or too prudish just because he couldn’t see.

It made a nice change from Hank, who’d been more offended at the discriminations that came with being blind than Charles himself. And Alex, who was willing to educate himself, but mostly with questions like, “So, do you know sign language?” And Emma, who hadn’t cared much about his eyesight either way but very much about the social status that came with dating Columbia’s youngest pet project of a professor.

So the thing with Max was really quite unfortunate. Charles wasn’t entirely sure what the problem was, either. Charles had met Logan while out without his guide dog – the two had been introduced when Logan first came to visit Charles’ flat in Chelsea, so Logan had been an intruder on Max’s space from the start. Perhaps it was that, or jealousy that so much of Charles’ attention was focused on Logan when he was over, or being banned from his favorite spot by the couch whenever Charles and Logan needed a flat surface. It probably didn’t matter what was bothering him, anyway – in two whole months, Max had not given a single indication that he might be warming up to Charles’s new guy.

Charles wasn't sure if it made it better or worse that Logan knew it, too. Wasn’t sure if it made it better or worse that Logan thought it was hilarious. Sometimes, unexpectedly, he would lift his considerable weight off of Charles, all spread out on the couch. Charles always chased Logan’s tongue with a whine, and Logan always laughed. He had a great laugh, coming all the way down from his belly, darkly amused. "You should see the death glare your dog's giving me right now, Chuck," he'd say. "He's a step away from building a death ray."

"Please don't call me Chuck." Charles groped at his shoulders. "And come back here."

Logan laughed again. "He looks like he'd just as soon come over and mount you himself."

Well, that effectively killed the mood. Charles wriggled out from underneath Logan's hips and propped himself up on his elbows.

"That's not sexy."

At least his telepathy assured him that Logan wasn't trying to awkwardly introduce a kink (or if he was, he was hiding it extraordinarily well), but it still wasn't something he wanted to think about involving himself and his dog.

"Sorry." Logan leaned in to kiss him again, telegraphing his intent with a hand on Charles’s shoulder.

Too bad Charles really wasn't in the mood anymore. "I think I'll move on to the coffee portion of the evening now," he said primly.

Logan sighed but let him go without any protest. Charles could feel that he thought he was overreacting, but hard as it was, he tried not to hold other people's thoughts against them. Thoughts were thoughts. Everyone had millions of them in a day, and most weren't fit for public consumption anyway. So he forced himself to swallow his annoyance. He wasn't going to start a fight. He was going to make his way over to the kitchen and make coffee and calm down.

"Here, boy," he said when he was halfway there, with a soft pat to his thigh. After the nature of the spat they’d just had, it was probably a bad idea to draw attention to the dog, but he wasn't willing to punish Max for Logan's inappropriate mouth.

Max's claws clacked softly against the floorboards. A moment later, his nose pushed gently into Charles's palm. With a shuddering sigh, Charles scratched at his ears.

“Let’s get you some food, hm?” he said. “See if that won’t get you out of your funk.”

* * *

It didn’t. After eating, Max trotted out to the living room to growl at Logan from a safe distance. Charles caught an image from Logan’s mind as he stirred his tea leaves – a large, black-brown Doberman, with his long ears tilted back and his teeth bared, standing conspicuously between the coffee table and the armchair. (And was his bookshelf really that color?) Of course Logan was content to growl lazily back at him. Charles wasn’t sure if Logan had been his best decision of all time, or the worst idea he’d ever had.

He’d just strained his tea when his phone vibrated on the counter. He found it after some groping. “Little sister,” it announced, and Charles flicked the call to ‘accept.’

"Hello, Raven," he said.

" _Brother_ ," she crowed. " _We’re going out for sushi with everybody. Except Kitty, she’s a vegetarian now, or something, so she’s not coming. But everybody else. Tuesday in a week. Eight o’clock._ "

"Sure," he agreed readily. He didn’t usually like eating in public – too much opportunity to spill bits of food all over himself, and then have nobody tell him for fear of embarrassing him. But Sushi was good. Easy enough to eat without making a mess, if he stayed clear of the soy sauce.

"I might be a bit late, though. I have class until 7:30."

" _Yeah, yeah, we'll wait. Oh, and could you maybe not bring Max? Sean’s afraid of dogs, that’s all._ ”

Charles grit his teeth. Max was so good at lying still and quiet at Charles’s feet that most people immediately forgot he was there, and without the dog, Charles would have to navigate the last of rush hour traffic and the restaurant with his cane, which he hated. But Sean was still new to the group and barely knew Charles and his dog, so how was he to know? Fears were fears, Charles knew that well enough.

“I’ll definitely be late, then. If I have to drop Max at home, first.”

“ _That’s fine_ ,” Raven assured him. She laughed. “ _We won’t leave before you get there, I promise._ ”

“Right.” Charles rubbed at his jaw. “Perhaps we could introduce Max and Sean sometime? Max really isn’t that scary.”

She laughed again. “ _Max is a terrifying hellbeast, and the only reason you don’t know it is because he’s sweet as pie around you. Don’t tell me that’s not him growling back there right now._ ”

Charles cocked his head to the side. Max was still busy with Logan; his growling having now reached a point where it could easily be heard in the kitchen and, apparently, on the other end of the phone.

“He’s having a stand-off with Logan,” he said, smiling a little.

“ _Oh_.” She laughed. “ _Is Logan not behaving himself? I can come over and kick him out for you, if you want._ ”

"I'm perfectly able to get rid of him," Charles reminded her, laying a hand on his temple out of sheer habit.

" _Yes, but I could_ actually _kick him out,_ " Raven said, with glee. " _And that would be a lot more satisfying._ "

“Raven, it’s fine,” Charles said, though he was laughing a little bit. “I promise. If I ever need to get rid of Logan that completely, I promise I’ll call.”

“ _You’d better,_ ” Raven said, sounding satisfied. “ _See you next week?_ ”

“Next week,” Charles agreed.

* * *

Before Tuesday came Thursday, and with it, the departmental meeting and introduction for incoming freshman. Charles was always one of the people to run it. He wasn’t actually in charge of anything in the program, but the department head had figured it’d be best to get the students’ introduction to Charles out of the way, considering the many irregularities about his teaching. The other teachers were more than happy to let him take their spot.

So fairly early in the morning, considering his lazy schedule all summer, Charles dressed himself in his lightest professor clothes, gathered up his things, harnessed up his dog and left for school. Like every year, it was teeming with young, overexcited hopefuls milling about trying to find the lecture halls they were expected to be in. Navigating through the crowds was an exercise in patience for Charles, who both enjoyed and was exasperated by such aimless enthusiasm. At least he had Max with him to guide him past backpacks and paper plates left in his path, and around clusters of teenagers grouped in front of exits and in doorways. At least most of the incoming biology students seemed to already be in attendance when Charles made his way to the front of their biggest lecture hall, and when the Dean introduced him, the doors had for the most part stopped clattering open and shut.

He was aware of the hushed whispers making their way across the crowd when he crossed the room. He was faced with them every time. The curiosity, the confusion, it was always the same. He got Max to lay down by the teacher’s desk, to stay down and be quiet, with a couple of well-known commands, then took six measured steps to the center of the floor.

“Hello,” he said, turning his face into the heat of the lights. “I’m Professor Charles Xavier, and I’m a telepath.”

He waited for the predicted and predictable murmurs to die down again before he continued.

“All of you who signed up for the program will have been issued a waiver. If you have not signed it, be aware that you will not be able to take any of my classes without turning it in to the registrar, and it is notoriously difficult to complete all classes required for this major without taking any with me. This should not be news to any of you,” he said, although he could tell that for some, of course, it was.

“Now, does anyone have any pressing questions before we start?”

People usually didn’t, and Charles had already turned to his desk for the usual stack of info leaflets when someone in the front row blurted out, "Why do you have a guide dog?"

Charles hesitated for a moment. Unkindly, he thought someone must have drastically lowered the acceptance requirements this year. Then, he pushed the thought aside and forced a calm, kind expression. “Because I’m blind,” he said lightly. To his relief, a few people snickered at the asker’s obliviousness, now that it was out in the open.

“Thank you for bringing that up,” he said anyway. “Let’s just get it out of the way right now. Yes, I am blind. This will not make my classes any easier – for you. It just means that I will have some assistance in, say, monitoring exams.” He smiled when he felt some of the hope that had surged up in the room die away just as quickly. "Classes with me will also require some initiative on your part, I'm afraid. I do have my trusty helper with me most of the time,” he said, indicating Max, “but he won’t be able to assist me with everything. He can, for instance, let me know when someone raises their hand, but it would be a violation of privacy for me to search your minds to find out who it is. So when I ask you to pose your questions, please be independent enough to work out an order amongst yourself.”

He put down his papers and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Let’s have a test-run,” he said. “You may ask me anything, though I will, of course, reserve the right not to answer. Now, if you have a question for me, please raise your hand.”

After a moment of silence, Max' tail thumped the floor. And again. And again.

Taking in the slew of questioning minds, Charles sighed. “Right then,” he said. “Start at the back, work your way to the front. Go.”

* * *

For all that orientation only went on for a couple of hours, it always felt like years to Charles. After an entire summer of teaching miniscule classes and otherwise reading in his apartment, a lecture hall full of excited eighteen-year-olds was worse than his neighbor’s electronic music on full blast. His head ached and his eyes felt dry and gritty. He wanted a bath. It was an utter relief to push out into the late afternoon sunshine and feel no presence but his dog, walking patiently beside him.

One of the very nice things about a guide dog as opposed to an assistant, Charles had found, was that he didn’t have to deal with Max’s emotions. There wasn’t much he could read from animals as a whole, outside of the general knowledge they were there. Strong emotions, at times, were possible: he might sense the terror of a cat stuck in a tree, and its relief when it was back on solid ground. He’d once gone abroad for a month and Max’s elation to have him back almost rivaled Charles’ own happiness at the familiar surroundings. 

But those were exceptions. Generally, trying to communicate with an animal was like listening to a badly tuned radio: a lot of headaches and exhaustion with ultimately very little to show for it. It was much easier to rely on thumping tails and low growls for reading a mood, even with a dog as self-contained as Max.

He’d had Max for years, now. They knew how to work with and around each other, and Charles knew to stop when Max nudged Charles’s knee with his nose. The dog shuffled around a little, pulling at the harness, and then nudged Charles again, this time with something soft. Charles took it and fingered it, recognizing his suit jacket after a moment.

Charles laughed. “Did I drop my coat?” he cooed, urging Max closer to pet his neck. “Did I? Thank you, my friend. Who’s my tall, dark and handsome boy, huh?” He lifted the jacket, feeling for the pockets to find Max a treat.

“Professor! Professor Xavier!”

Charles turned towards the voice, nudging Max in the right direction with his knee. Max’s treat would have to wait, and so would his bath. He really didn’t feel like answering anymore questions, but perhaps it was important. His bath could wait if it was important.

“Professor,” she said. She sounded young. It was hard to tell anything beyond that, though – her mind was slippery as an eel, untouchable even to the automatic way Charles’ gift brushed against it. A defensive mutation, most likely. A supremely good one. One didn’t have to be strong offensively to be invulnerable, after all.

“Yes?” Charles said, with a smile in vaguely the right direction, forcing himself to remain in the present. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, I just wanted to say hello. Hello.”

He could hear her heels dancing back and forth on the pavement. Probably she was one of his most recent batches of students. Charles had an impressive mind, but even he couldn’t remember everyone he met from listening to them speak once. Generally they seemed to expect it, though, so he pasted on an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Would you remind me how we’re acquainted?”

“Oh, we’re not. Yet.”

Charles stiffened a little. Max, catching on to his discomfort, growled his softest, most publically acceptable growl, and barely subsided when Charles laid a hand on his head.

She laughed. "That is an angry dog you have there, darling."

Charles frowned. "Max?" he asked.

“Oh, yes.” She nudged his shoulder, which he hated, though he forced himself not to show it. “Quite the aggressive little shit, though he hides it well.”

“I – I don’t understand.” Charles rallied. “And I’ll thank you not to talk about my dog that way.”

“Fair enough.” She sounded like she meant it, too. “And I’ll thank you if you hold still for a moment. Deal?”

Charles felt a surge of fear, but before he had time to act on it, and Max had time to do more than bark, once, there was the pop and sudden tang of a teleporter appearing right behind him. Charles gagged on the smell. He barely felt someone grab his collar, and then the pop came again, and again, and then Charles was somewhere indoors, sheltered from the heat and sun, away from his kidnapper and his mysterious assailant and his dog.

He gagged again with the memory. Then again when the teleporter returned. The other mutant didn’t stay long this time, either, but he deposited two others in the room with Charles before he left. Charles recognized Max’s presence to his extreme relief. He was less pleased to discover the other being was the untouchable woman who was responsible for this whole mess, if not particularly surprised.

“Thank you,” she said formally before breaking into peals of laughter.

“Hilarious,” Charles said. “Is he going to drop off anyone else?”

She paused in her hiccupy laughter to ask, “Who?”

“The teleporter.”

“Oh, he’s gone,” she said loftily. “He was just here for the transport. You’ll have to find your own way home, mind.”

“There’s more of you, then,” Charles prompted. He cocked his head to listen to his echo. They were in a large room, mostly empty. Perhaps there were windows, but none of them were open.

“Oh, loads. So many people. So many agendas. Mostly we care about animal rights, though.”

“Animal rights,” Charles repeated blankly. Idly, he stretched his fingers along his pockets, hoping to reach his phone. He wasn’t sure how he was going to use it without her noticing, but he had to try. “ _Animal rights_ ,” he repeated after a moment. “Then _why_ are you going after me?”

“Because of the _dog_ ,” she said, as if he were slow. “You’re a high-profile what’s-it. If we demonstrate our powers on you, people will find out sooner or later.”

Charles forced himself to keep his shoulders stiff. Forced himself not to panic. “What powers am I to be subjected to, then?”

“You’ll see.” She laughed again. “That was funny, see? Wasn’t that funny?”

Charles let his silence speak for itself.

“Ah, Professor Stick-Up-the-Ass,” she muttered. She heaved a put-upon sigh. “Very well, if you must know: You influence the mind, Professor. I influence the body.”

“The body? In what way?” Charles asked, interested in spite of himself.

“Physically,” she explained, walking closer and then away again. Charles could hear her boots clomp against the floor, the swish of heavy skirts as she turned. “I can change your body, mine. Max’s. For instance, I grew a telepathy-blocking helmet for just this very occasion. Just to make sure you wouldn’t be tempted.”

Charles was very, very tempted. He wished she hadn’t known about that. He wished he knew what shape Max was in, and that he could figure out a way to get out of here. Still, he shrugged as if he didn’t care, and said, “I’ve never heard of you.”

She laughed. “No, I prefer to stay out of the limelight as much as possible. With powers like mine, it’s best if nobody knows about you, I’ve found.” She giggled a little, sounding incongruously like a little girl. “That, and it’s a lot easier to cause mischief.”

Charles took a deep breath. “And are you intending to cause mischief now?”

“Oh, yes.” She snickered again. “Or, well, no. Not _really_. Really I think your poor dog is oppressed and violated in his slavish woes. Or something. I wasn’t really listening. But I know what I’m supposed to do, in the end, and it’s going to be fun.”

Charles braced himself.

Nothing happened. No, that wasn’t true. He could feel a surge of power in the room, but he didn’t experience any change, and neither of the other two minds were readable to him. Something had to be happening, though, because he could still hear her cackling, delighted with herself.

After a while, the power died off. Her laughter trailed into satisfied silence. “There,” she said. “Beautiful.”

“What did you do?” Charles asked dryly. “Stick me with devil’s horns?”

“Oh, no, not _you_ , honey. Your dog.”

“My dog?” Charles felt another surge of panic, perhaps even stronger than the ones before. He himself could deal with just about anything. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with someone hurting Max. He swiveled his head towards his dog’s seemingly unchanged consciousness, wishing like he’d never wished before that he could just _see_.

His voice quaked when he said, “What did you do?”

“Ah, nothing big. Just a teeny tiny change, really. Only something like a 2 per cent genetic difference, anyway.”

Charles grit his teeth. He tried to take a deep breath, calming himself, but through his teeth, it just made him sound angrier. “What did you do to my dog?”

“Well, you can’t rightly call him a dog, anymore,” she said. She sounded almost apologetic about it. “I’ve changed his body into that of a human.”

“You what?” Charles asked.

He felt a little faint. It certainly didn't help that Charles had no way of knowing what Max was going through. His mind was an opaque blur to his telepathy, just as it had been before. It made sense, in a way, but that didn't make it any less frustrating for Charles. He wasn't used to deciphering other people without use of his gift, and he didn't even have facial expressions to help guide him along.

“Turned your dog into a person, honey. Sorry I had to spring it on you. But on the bright side, you get to take home quite an attractive human being.”

"No!" Charles' voice had taken on a bit of a hysterical tinge. "No! What am I supposed to do with a person? I need a guide dog, not a kept boy."

"'Boy' isn't necessarily the word I'd choose, considering." Her voice had taken on a disturbingly lewd tone. "Mmh-um, can't call it anything but a man and still do that package justice. Mmhm. I'm almost tempted to keep him myself."

"You will not." Charles balled his hands into fists. He’d hit her if she wasn’t so far away, even if the chances of actually getting away from a seeing person in unfamiliar surroundings were next to none. She'd probably dodge him easily, and then who knew what she would try with him? "You've certainly done enough damage for one day. I won't let you traumatize that poor - creature any further."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart." She sounded like she was moving away. "I suppose you don't want me to find him any clothes, either."

"No!" Charles forced himself to take a deep, settling breath. "I mean, please do. Something suitable for the weather, if that's possible."

"So that's a no on the tutu?"

Charles took another breath. It didn't help very much. "Something that will allow me to get Max home without getting either him or myself arrested, if that's at all possible."

"This is New York, honey. Not much that'll get you arrested here."

Still, Charles could hear her puttering around, rustling fabrics and muttering to herself. He was relieved to hear they were still in New York, at least, and apparently about to let go. He wasn’t sure he believed it, but he desperately wanted to.

Across the room, she snapped an elastic band against skin loud enough for Charles to wince, and then announced, “All set. I’ll be off, now. Have fun with your new friend.”

Her boots clomped along the floorboards. Then she paused. "Oh, word of advice: Don't keep calling him Max. That'll just lead to confusion and unpleasantness down the line." She hummed thoughtfully. “I like ‘Erik,’ personally. He’s got that tall ruggedness.”

Then she was gone. Charles, abandoning all decorum, groaned. He had no idea where he was, or who he was with, and while he had people he could call, he was very much not looking forward to phoning Raven and admitting to her the bind he’d gotten himself into.

Something whined in response.

Charles froze. “Max?” he said softly.

The whine came again, reminding Charles that he wasn’t the only one stuck in this mess. However confusing this experience had been for him, for Max, it had to have been far, far worse.

Slowly, hesitantly, he offered his hand. Max's presence was as unreadable to him as ever, and for a moment Charles wasn’t sure if he'd changed at all. Perhaps whatever transformation his dog went through was all in the woman's head.

"It's okay," he said softly. "Everything's okay, I promise."

There was a quiet sigh, hitched and uncertain. Then, after a moment of silence, long, broad fingers curled into his.

* * *

His calves were shaking. Charles only grew aware of it gradually, the same way it took him a moment to realize there was cold sweat on his forehead, and that he was holding on to Max’s fingers way too tight. Erik’s fingers. Something.

The thing was, as much as he wanted to give in to the panic, as much as he wanted to curl up in a ball and call for his daddy, Erik was shaking even worse. He was half a head taller than Charles and broad and it seemed like his entire body was so taut it was about to fly apart from the tension. And Charles had most solemnly promised the people from the seeing-eye institute that he would take good care of Max, swear to God, on his honor as a scientist. He couldn’t afford to fall apart now.

He took a few deep breaths. Then, he reached over to take hold of one quivering arm, gave the muscles under his hand a squeeze. “Okay,” he said. He took another deep breath. Cleared his throat. “Erik? Max? I need you to find the door for me. The _door_.”

Erik hitched a breath.

“The door,” Charles reminded him, as patiently as he could.

After a breathless moment, Erik took a step forwards. He grew bolder when Charles praised him, taking another step. And another. It went almost smoothly after that, step by miniscule, wobbly step, until he stopped again, and made a scratchy sort of noise. Max had been trained to give a bit of a ruff if he’d led Charles as far as he could go, so Charles put a hesitant hand out. After a good foot, he encountered metal. A large metal door, the kind storage units tended to have. Charles let his hands sweep left and right until his wandering fingers found the handle. There were simple turning locks, and when he’d opened them and gave the handle a breathless tug, the door slid towards him with barely a squeak.

It was windy out. Charles could have cried with relief at stepping out into the sunshine. No more empty corridors to navigate. Streets, he could handle.

“Okay, Erik,” he said, trying for the usual kind-but-firm tone he gave commands in. “Take me to the curb, my boy. Curb.”

When he put his hand back on the muscular arm, Erik led him another three feet. Then he made that noise again. Charles slid his foot forward and, indeed, encountered the sidewalk’s ledge.

“You are such a good boy,” he said. His voice was trembling. He couldn’t hear any cars, but he didn’t care. He was still in New York. If there were streets, people weren’t too far away.

He gave Erik’s arm a squeeze. “You’re doing so well, my friend,” he said. "Now, how do you feel about us ringing some doorbells and finding out where we are?”

* * *

It took Charles hours to relax enough to doze off. It hadn’t been all that hard to get home, in the end. Finding a house with inhabitants willing to answer his confused questions had taken a while, and the cab driver he’d called had charged an arm and a leg to take a disoriented blind man and his half-dressed companion from Bushwick to Chelsea, but they’d gotten home no worse for wear.

Erik had even relaxed a little when they reached the apartment. So did Charles, but Charles knew how to keep it together in terrifying situations, mostly. Erik’s only coping mechanism seemed to be hiding in the bathtub. Max had done it every year on New Year’s Eve. Erik seemed to find the same comfort in the cold porcelain, and no amount of coaxing and kind words could get him out again.

Charles had given up in the end, calling praise and endearments to the shivering body in the tub even as he brushed his teeth and dressed for bed. He hadn’t really expected to sleep, and he hadn’t. Hours of tossing and turning were followed by a restless doze that he immediately startled out of when he heard his bedroom door creak open.

“Who’s there?” he called. It was stupid. He could tell that it was Erik, with his mind just as unreadable as Max’s had always been, hovering in the doorway like he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome.

“What’s wrong? Is someone here?” Charles asked, irrationally panicked, although he could sense all too well that he and Erik were the only active minds in the apartment. “What is it?”

Erik stayed silent.

Willing his hyperactive heart to calm, Charles felt for the tactile clock on the nightstand. Just past two. No reason to be getting up just yet. He tried to force his voice calm and steady. “Come on. Come here.”

Erik did, after a moment, rounding the bed and falling into a crouch by Charles’s nightstand. He didn’t seem to be too steady on his feet, judging by the way he was clutching at the bedcovers, though if it was the new form or fear or half a night spend in a bathtub wasn’t easy to tell.

“Shsh,” Charles muttered. “It’s just me. You remember me, right? It’s Charles.”

“Ch-Charles.”

Charles gaped. The voice was low and oddly accented, stuttery and unsure, but that had most definitely been his name.

“Erik?” he said anyway, carefully.

“Charles.”

Okay. Speech. Speech was good. Speech was excellent, actually, though Charles was still unsettled enough by everything to stay his professional curiosity

“Charles,” Erik stammered again.

“Erik,” Charles soothed. “Shsh, my darling. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I – I – I…”

“Shsh,” Charles said again. He sat up and slid his feet onto the ground. Gently, he prompted, “Come on, tell me. Are you scared? Cold?”

“C-cold,” Erik whispered. He was pulling at the blankets, still.

Charles caught one of the jittering hands. It was freezing.

“Oh, I just bet you are. The tub’s not so comfortable when it’s not full of hot water, is it?”

“No,” Erik said. He sounded like his teeth were chattering.

Rising, Charles tugged lightly on Erik’s hand, urging him towards the living room and the couch with its pillows and blankets.

“Come on, my boy, let’s get you settled.”

* * *

Charles felt a lot steadier in the morning. Perhaps it was that he was a scientist at heart, and it was Thursday. He had the rest of the week off to study perhaps the most bizarre creature on the planet – a dog in a man’s body.

Bizarre, but not dangerous. Everybody always delighted in telling him what a piece of work Max was, but really, what did they know? Erik wasn’t angry. He was a sweetheart, complying readily with all the odd things Charles suddenly expected him to do and submitting to Charles’s whims with barely any protest. He didn’t even whine (much) when Charles told him they were skipping their morning walks.

Thankfully, he took to the concept of a toilet readily enough, even if he made Charles explain four times why he had to wash his hands afterwards. He put on a pair of shorts even though he made clear he didn’t see why. He didn’t insist on his usual canned food when Charles offered him lunch meat instead, and he submitted himself to every test Charles could think up:

He could stand well enough on two feet. Holding the pose for a long time was difficult, though he seemed to grow steadier with time. Balancing on one leg was right out. He was disconcerted at being suddenly tall, but quietly gleeful about being taller than Charles.

He could catch a ball – once Charles had gotten him to stop trying to use his teeth – but not pick up a pen. After he’d dropped the second book on Charles’s feet, Charles finally had the mind to check his grip and discovered the opposable thumb as the culprit: Erik would use it instinctively, but not if he was moving deliberately, like he wasn’t quite sure how it worked.

He explained, in halting but improving English, how his senses had changed: He heard less. He smelled less. He could see motion less clearly, but marveled at the brilliant colors. The missing tail worried him, but he could understand that it wasn’t necessary for him to communicate or balance at the moment.

He was quite happy with the idea of warm food. He was thrilled at the efficiency of eating with hands, not thrilled at all at the inefficiency of eating with a fork. He _loved_ steak, cut into bite size pieces. He didn’t like hot drinks. He hated coffee. Peanut butter was okay. He was a little confused to hear his days of settling his stomach with grass were over, but figured Charles would make things right, the way he always did.

He knew who Charles was. He knew the apartment was his home. He remembered the blue woman, Raven, and – unhappily – Logan. He knew Charles spoke to lots of people, but not why. His job was helping Charles and protecting him. He wanted to try lots of things as long as Charles was there; touch everything, even when Charles had told him not to. His guilt over upending the sugar bowl faded quickly, and he started eating the grains off the table instead.

With a sigh, Charles pushed out of his chair and found the handheld vacuum cleaner in its cupboard. He had a lady that came by to clean once a week, but he was more than capable of dealing with minor emergencies on his own. And if he didn’t, Erik would likely have poisoned himself by then.

He bid Erik to keep his distance when he turned it on, keeping one hand on Erik’s shoulder to monitor his reaction.

There was none of Max’s usual dramatics in the way Erik tensed.

“I used to be scared of that,” Erik said, not quite a question, while Charles ran the opening over the table.

“You used to hide under my bed,” Charles said, grinning.

Erik nudged Charles in the stomach with his head. “It’s loud,” he said.

Charles turned it off.

“Used to be louder,” Erik conceded afterwards. He chortled softly when Charles went to pack the vacuum away, like he was pleased with himself.

Charles got the distinct impression he was being poked fun of.

* * *

Charles woke with a crick in his neck from passing out on the couch and someone hovering over him, breathing hotly on his neck. Charles sucked in a sharp breath. He managed not to throw Erik off, but it was a near thing.

"Breakfast?" Erik said hopefully.

Charles sighed. "You can just help yourself when you get hungry," he said. "You don't have to wait for me."

"Right," Erik said.

Charles heard him trot over to the kitchen, and the refrigerator door open. After a while, it closed again.

“Can I eat this?” Erik asked.

Charles forced patience. “If you’d let me know what it is you’re holding, sure.”

“An –“ Here, Erik stumbled. “An a-apple?”

“Yes, you may eat it.” Charles waved a hand. “You may eat whatever you like, unless I specifically tell you not to.”

“Um. Okay.” Erik hesitated. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Charles assured him. “Just do whatever it is you want to do, and I promise we’ll be fine.”

* * *

Charles stepped around the couch table and tripped over something soft and solid. Erik, he realized when he’d caught himself on the armchair and recovered from the shock. Monday was his research day, the one day a week he didn’t have any classes to teach. He’d been lost in the recording of a new article on AHC playing on his iPod, but that was probably a poor excuse for not noticing Erik lying wedged between the coffee table and the couch.

Calm, Charles reminded himself. _Calm_. "What are you doing?"

"Staying off the furniture," Erik said. He didn't resist when Charles took his arm and tugged him to his feet.

"You don't have to do that," he said. "Not anymore."

Erik murmured his assent, but didn’t sit down on the couch. Part of Charles wanted to voice his frustration, violently and aggressively. The other part knew he wasn’t being fair. Erik had been a person for all but a week. All the guidelines of acceptable behavior that he had to draw on were tailored to a dog.

“You know what,” Charles said, “you like the park. Let’s go to the park.”

* * *

Erik was apprehensive about it. That much was obvious – he’d been obedient but slow putting on Charles’s slacks, and his shirt, and his shoes. He’d practically clung to Charles’s side in traffic and whined gently at every loud screech or blare. But he liked the park, and he remembered as much when they arrived, running off across the sprinkler-soaked lawns the moment Charles squeezed his arm and told him to go. Charles wished he could see his face as he bounded back and forth, but he settled for hearing his breathless laughter on the wind.

"Charles!"

Charles had a split second to groan and debate the possibility of, as a blind man, hiding himself from a woman who had clearly already spotted him before Raven bore down on him.

"Charles, hi, how are you doing? What are you doing here?"

 _Avoiding everyone_ , Charles didn’t say. He leaned in a little, letting her kiss his cheek. "Just wanted to get some fresh air. I didn't know you were in the area." He gripped his cane tightly and didn’t let himself add anything more. She didn’t need to know that, had he known of her presence, he would have avoided the place like the plague.

“Visiting Irene. And no, no date.” Raven snickered. “For me, at least. Who's your friend?"

Charles stopped himself from saying, ‘no one.’ ‘No one’ was always someone. Instead, he covered his face with his hand. “Do I even want to know what this looks like?"

"It looks like you're taking a badly dressed hottie for a walk. Or him you, rather. What did you do with Max?"

Ah, yes. Time for the lying to start. Charles leaned on his cane and said, looking away, "He's - indisposed."

Raven snorted. "That sounds like you killed him. Did you drop a pot on him, or something?"

"Something," Charles said sourly. "M - Erik over there is going to hang around until Max comes back.”

“Oh, he’s the help.” Raven sounded intrigued now. And, nauseatingly, interested.

“Yes,” Charles said sharply.

“Well, congrats, brother,” she said, leaning in to squeeze his upper arm. “He’s hot.” She considered for a moment. “Really needs to work on the wardrobe, though.”

Charles, who’d spent a good twenty minutes feeling his way through his closet for something that might fit Erik reasonably well, scowled. “Maybe looks just aren’t that important to him.”

Raven groaned. "Oh, not another lecture on not judging books by their cover, Charles, I beg you."

"Stop doing it, then," Charles said grumpily, though her complaint took the wind out of his sails. Was he really that predictable? That boring?

“I can’t help it that I’m narrow-minded and self-absorbed,” she snipped.

Charles rolled his unseeing eyes. “Aren’t you late for class, or something?”

She fumbled through her purse. He heard the beep of her phone a moment later. “I am not,” she said. “But I’m not stupid. I’ll leave if you and your hot man-assistant would rather be alone together.”

“Yes, thank you,” Charles said, ushering her on just as he felt Erik’s mind returning their way. “I’ll call you!”

* * *

_September_

“So I just – go over there?”

“And say ‘two hot dogs, please,’" Charles said patiently. “The please is important.”

“’Two hot dogs, please,’” Erik echoed, unconvinced. “And then come back?”

“Then wait for the food, and then come back.” Charles patted the building just behind him, its stone blocks warmed by the sun. “I’ll be right here, I promise.”

Erik was silent.

"You don't have to say anything else," Charles assured him. "Just hand over the money, he'll know that to do with it."

Erik took the bills from Charles' hand.

“It’s fine,” Charles said. He couldn’t feel any emotion from Erik, of course, but even so, it wasn’t difficult to sense his reluctance. He put out his hand. Erik moved into his touch a moment later, and Charles slid his palm up the broad chest to squeeze his shoulder. In that sense, Erik the human was just like Max the dog had been: Massive with muscles. On the other hand, Erik the human was as bad at following orders as Max the dog had been great at it.

“Please,” Charles said, to cover the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “For me?”

Erik drew away with a quiet huff. Letting the smile take over his face, Charles leaned back against the wall behind him. The stones warmed him through his jacket. Even with the street just a couple of feet away, it was oddly peaceful like this. New York wasn’t usually a quiet city, but now, even with the horns blaring and the music spilling out from a nearby shop, Charles was at ease.

He lifted his head, smiling still, so caught up in the feeling of the sun on his face that it took him a moment to notice Erik stomping back towards him. Charles didn’t usually get much from him by way of feelings, but he was clearly displeased enough that some of it seeped over into Charles’ consciousness.

“Here.” The smell of hotdog came abruptly closer, like Erik had thrust the meal out at him.

Charles held his hand out carefully. Erik settled the bun into it with his usual care, which eased Charles’s concern a little. “Thank you.”

Erik flopped against the wall next to him. He didn’t say a word until Charles had eaten the very last bite, wiped his mouth and crumpled up his napkin, and then he growled, “Can we go home now, please?”

* * *

Bad as he felt about it, Charles had to admit that by the time they were back at his apartment, he was a little amused. It didn’t seem like there was anything really wrong, and Erik grumpy and huffy was weirdly cute. When he threw himself down on the sofa with a groan of annoyance, Charles took a cautious seat next to him.

“Would you like to tell me what’s the matter?”

Erik turned over with a huff. “He wanted to keep some of your money.”

“He wanted to…” Charles shook his head. “The money? You mean the hotdog vendor?”

“Yes!” With that agitated exclaim, Erik sat up, though he was clearly careful not to bump into Charles on the way. “I gave him the money, and he gave me the food and the – the change, and then when I put it away he told me I should give him more.”

“That’s called tipping,” Charles explained. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about it.”

“You should have stuffed his stupid hotdogs down his throat.”

“Erik,” Charles chided.

“He called me a badly dressed dimwit!” Erik exclaimed. “And he was wearing a pink shirt. And he smelled like meat! I should have just bitten him.”

Charles tamped down on a laugh. “No, you shouldn’t have,” he said, trying to give his words the gravitas they deserved. “It wasn’t nice of him, of course, but he can say those things if he likes.”

“No, he can’t!”

“Yes, he can,” Charles said patiently. "It's his right."

Erik smacked his hand down on the coffee table, making Charles jump. "Well, it shouldn't be."

“Yes, it should.”

Erik whined, uncomprehending and annoyed about it.

Charles gentled his voice. “That’s exactly the way it should be. People have the right to say what they want, even if we don't like it. That's very important."

Erik growled; a low, frustrated sound. "But what if they're wrong?"

"Even if they're wrong." Charles reached out his hand. A moment later, Erik took it, twisting their fingers together.

Charles gave them a comforting squeeze. "Sometimes especially if they're wrong. Because when we listen to their opinions, we learn to see things from a different, perhaps unconsidered, perspective. Perhaps the vendor wasn’t a good first example, but we can’t discriminate between who is allowed to disagree with us and who isn’t. Listening to what others think is the best way to learn. And sometimes," he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "we might even discover that we were the ones who were wrong."

He thought Erik understood that, though he was clearly unhappy about it. 

"Dogs don’t think like that,” he said. “We think, he's stronger, he's right. I'm stronger, I'm right."

Charles smiled gently. “It’s not like that with people.”

Erik sighed. "Being a people is very confusing," he said, heartfelt.

Charles settled his hands, still holding on to Erik's, in his lap and sighed himself. "Isn't it just."

* * *

Charles was fifteen minutes into his lecture on DNA/proteins interaction when Erik, seated at the teacher’s desk, cleared his throat. Charles hesitated, clicker in the air. He'd asked Erik not to interrupt unless it was absolutely necessary - but what if it was? What if, good Lord, Erik was asking permission to... But no. Erik was still Max, essentially, still thought like Max, still considered Max's tasks his own, and in Charles's classroom, Max was assistant teacher, wasn't he?

"Yes," Charles said hesitantly. "Someone has a question?"

“Professor,” a girl said, somewhere near the front. Charles, before turning to her, aimed a smile in Erik’s direction, and thought he felt a soft, gentle wave of pleasure in return.

* * *

People usually didn’t come talk to him during office hours, not until a paper or exam were due the very next day. He still held them, marking homework or chatting logistics with Moira or even just explaining human things to Erik, who’d taken up residence in the almost-comfortable chair in the corner. It was a relaxing way to spend two afternoons a week, but it did mean he startled so badly he almost upended his coffee cup when there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” he called, hastily running his hands over his papers to look for wet spots.

The door creaked open a little.

“Hi,” someone said. “I’m Ricky, with the Dean’s Office. Dr. Xavier?”

Charles hesitated. “Uh, yes,” he said. “Come on in. What’s going on?”

Ricky didn’t seem to move. “So, we’ve received a call from some – interesting individuals calling themselves the WATCHAS – something something Tyranny Animal Safety, I don’t know. They said, um. I mean. They kind of sort of implied you were an animal abuser?”

Charles kept his voice level. “Implied.”

“Well, kind of like Kanye implies he doesn’t have any self-esteem issues, you know. _Anyway_. The Dean sent me over for your statement.”

Charles shuffled his papers together. “I’m not an animal abuser,” he said evenly. “As you can see, I don’t even have my guide dog anymore.”

“Yeah,” Ricky said. “What happened to him? He was really… impressive.”

“I have an assistant now,” Charles said, waving a hand at Erik’s corner.

“I’m the assistant,” Erik put in.

“You do have an assistant,” Ricky said. “Okay then. Thanks for the statement. We’ll be in touch if anything else happens. Okay, great.”

He disappeared without a word.

Charles, after a moment’s pause, turned on his computer screen. It took him a moment to find the right page, but apparently even dubious animal rights activists needed web presence.

Charles listened to his page-reader for a while. “Okay,” he said, spinning in Erik’s direction. “So apparently, the WATCHAS want to eradicate human dominion over the rest of creation. They have developed a cunning plan to prove abuse by letting the mistreated animals speak for themselves. They don’t say how, but I think we have a pretty good idea.”

He could feel Erik get up from his chair.

“I don’t think we should go to the police,” he said when Erik came to peer over his shoulder. “I really don’t want them taking you away from me.”

“Sure,” Erik said. “Can you open that picture?”

They navigated for a moment before the image popped open. Erik hummed thoughtfully.

“What?” Charles asked. “What is it?” He dearly wished he could see what Erik was seeing, although Erik’s hand soaking warmth into his shoulder made up for a lot.

“Oh, nothing,” Erik said. “Just the girl who turned me into a person.”

Charles fumbled around with the mouse. The reading program said the picture was titled, ‘JENNY.’

* * *

“So, Raven,” Charles said, balancing the teacup cautiously over to the couch. “What brings you here, exactly?”

“What, I can’t look in on my big brother from time to time? Careful with that.”

Charles could hear her shifting – she probably had her feet up on the coffee table again. “It’s fine,” he said. He only ever spilled drinks when someone tried to take them from him without warning, like – yes, Raven, right then.

“It’s hot,” she said.

Charles shook the scalding liquid from his fingers once the cup was safely transferred. “So it is.” He navigated around the table to sit down at the other end of the couch. “Tea usually is.”

“That’s my genius brother,” she said. She slurped a sip. When Charles was silent, she sighed. “Sharon asked me to look in on you.”

When Charles’s forehead drew into a steep frown, she rushed on. “But! Now that I’m here, what did happen to Max? And don’t tell me you gave him away, or anything. That dog was practically your boyfriend.”

Charles sighed. He was terrible at lying to Raven, and it always worked out horribly in the long run, so he took a deep breath and said, “Some crazy activist turned Max into Erik.”

Raven was silent. Her disbelief was so loud Charles winced even without listening to her thoughts.

“I’m serious,” he said.

“You _seriously_ want me to believe your hot new assistant used to be your dog.”

Now Charles was the one not speaking. Better to let her get it out of her system now.

“You actually think that? Are you crazy? Are you _stupid_? This dude probably axed Max while you weren’t looking and then told you some sob story, and you _would_ fall for that, wouldn’t you, you let everybody trample all over you and happily invite them back for more.”

Charles covered his face with his hand. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?” he muttered.

She sat up, sweeping something or other off the table in the process. “Oh, yes, please, let’s seriously talk about how my sisterly concern is the same thing as this pervert coming out of nowhere and telling you he used to be a dog, of all things, and you saying, ‘Oh, yes, please, weirdo, come take advantage of me.’”

Charles wasn’t even angry. Not really. The flare of heat he felt in his belly died away as Raven barreled on. He clenched his hands together and bowed his head, and barely even noticed that Erik had entered until he spoke from the doorway, low and angry.

“You need to leave.”

“What?” Raven sounded legitimately flabbergasted. “What did _I_ do?”

Erik’s voice was stony. “You’re upsetting Charles. Leave.”

“Well, last _I_ checked, this was still Charles’s place, and I’ll go if he wants me to, thanks.”

“It’s my place, too.”

“Oh, is it, you – you gold-digger.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

Charles was getting a headache. He leaned forward, rubbing at his aching temples. He kind of wanted Raven gone, too, but he wasn’t prepared to deal with her hurt silence for weeks on end.

“Erik,” he said, cutting through Raven’s indignant sputtering. “Remember what we talked about? You can’t kick Raven out just because she said something you don’t like.”

“I’m kicking her out because she’s mean to you,” Erik protested. “Don’t tell me you’re not upset.”

Sighing, Charles patted the empty space next to him, away from Raven. “Sit down for a moment, will you?”

“No.” Erik sounded like he was gearing up for a fight. “Not while she’s here. I’m not gonna sit there and be calm while she yells at you.”

God, Charles was tired. “Raven?” he asked, turning his head the other way.

He could feel the cushions move when she pointedly settled into them. “I’m not leaving you alone with this creep.”

What Charles really wanted was two hours to himself; a hot bath, maybe, or a sitcom on TV where he didn’t have to see what was happening to laugh at the corny jokes. And Max, who’d come and cuddle with Charles’s feet when the harness was off, but was too well-trained to hop onto the couch. His sweet, trusty Max who always had Charles’s back but never tried to make decisions for him.

Instead, he had an angry, overprotective sister and an angry, overprotective sort-of-person to content with, and the pounding in his temples didn’t seem to be going anywhere fast.

“It’s none of your business what he does-“

“Oh, are you hoping I’ll go away so you can work on your anchor baby-?”

“Okay, enough.” Charles held up his hands to silence both of them. “Raven, Erik _is_ Max, and he’s staying. Erik, Raven might be upset, but we’re not going to kick her out. Can you both live with that?”

With a huff, Erik stomped off down the corridor.

“You’re crazy,” Raven snipped, and then wouldn’t say anything more.

At least the stony silence was soothing his headache.

* * *

By Charles’ count, Erik had been standing in front of the open refrigerator doors for almost fifteen minutes. Charles could hear the soft whirr all the way in the living room, like dollar bills going down the drain. “You’re wasting energy,” he told Erik, past the arm he’d thrown over his eyes after a full day of largely clueless freshman. He liked being the one to open up a whole new world for them, but sometimes he thought his brain might as well leak from his head.

“Erik, I’m serious,” he said, when his words had no effect. “Either decide or close the door.”

Erik whined a little.

Charles sighed. “Just pick something, Erik. It’s not that hard.”

"I don't know how!" Erik cried. "I've never had to worry about things like that before."

Charles sighed, annoyance evaporating. "And now I suddenly expect you to make decisions like you've been doing it all your life. I'm sorry. "

Erik huffed a soft breath. Still, he took Charles’ hand when Charles, groaning, made his way over and reached for him, squeezing once before letting go again.

“There’s so much stuff,” he said. “And I don’t even know what most of it is.”

“That should limit your options, though, should it not?”

Erik was silent. Charles figured he might be giving an overwhelmed shrug, and that he could understand. He couldn’t tell much from Erik’s presence, but every bit of it that he could translate into human thoughts, so to speak, was laced with frustration.

It would be a mercy, Charles knew, for him to simply decide what Erik ought to eat, the way he had before. And yet, considering it looked as though Erik would be staying a human being for now, making decisions was something he had to learn. If he was ever going to function as an independent individual, and it would be cruel of Charles to hope that he would not, he needed to make decisions. Small ones, first, so the more complex ones might come later.

“Sit,” he told Erik. “Go on. Pick a chair.”

When the scraping legs told him he’d been obeyed, Charles pursed his lips. He didn’t have much experience with the newly human, but he dimly remembered something from his childhood, something his father had done for him when Charles had been young and tired from his lessons and just come to understand his limitations.

"How about this, then: I'll give you a choice. Would that be alright? I'll offer something, and all you have to decide is option a or option b."

“That’s –“ Erik shifted in his chair. “We could try that.”

“Excellent.”

The refrigerator door opened with a familiar rush of cold air. Charles liked familiar. He enjoyed the new, very much, but there was something deeply settling about being in his own space and knowing exactly where everything was. He let his fingers ghost over the contents – milk, mayo, mustard, lettuce, lunch meat. Tomatoes were on the counter next to the fridge. The cabinet, which he opened next, held cans neatly labeled in braille. Charles thought for a moment before he turned back to Erik.

“Would you like to have soup or a sandwich for lunch?” he asked. He held himself back from pressing. Letting Erik come to his own conclusions was part of the exercise, after all.

“A sandwich,” Erik said eventually.

Charles wasn’t surprised. To someone used to eating ground meat off the ground, soup would no doubt be a challenge.

“I would like a sandwich,” Erik repeated, firmer now.

"Ham or chicken?" Charles tried. When his only reply was a quick gasp of air, he backtracked just as fast, saying, "No, you know what, let's just have chicken. Are you okay with that? Is chicken okay for you, Erik?"

"Chicken's fine," Erik said, voice small.

“Chicken it is,” Charles said, voice going a little pompous the way it always did when he was flustered and trying not to show it. “One excellent chicken sandwich, coming right up.”

Erik didn’t say anything.

“And just think, you can finally eat all the food you’ve been begging for.”

The joke fell flat. Erik huffed a bit, but it didn’t qualify even remotely as laughter. Charles made their sandwiches in silence.

* * *

Charles didn’t usually have visitors in his carefully arranged space, so when there was an unscheduled knock on the door, he thought it was Logan at first. He hadn’t heard from him in ages.

“Who’s there?” he called.

“Charles?”

The voice had him yanking open the door in an instant. “Mother!” Charles said. “What are you doing here?”

She clucked her tongue. “Is that any way to greet me? I did carry you for nine and a half months, you know.”

“Of course not.” He leaned in, letting her maneuver around him enough that he could kiss her cheek, enveloping him in a cloud of perfume. “It’s lovely to see you, Mother, as always. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

She swatted at his arm. “Don’t think I can’t tell you’re still being cheeky. No, I came to see how you were getting on. I’m your mother, I’m allowed to be worried about you.”

She laid a hand on his face next. She never telegraphed when she was going to do that and Charles hated it, but he could never bring himself to tell her off for it. She was his mother. Shouldn’t he revel in her touch?

“You’d worry with or without permission,” Charles said, dry tone covering his dismay. He’d hoped to keep Erik and his mother apart for as long as possible. Raven must have tipped her off. Those two had nothing in common besides their need to mother Charles, and when they united forces, it was usually horrifying.

“Would you get me a hanger, Lovely?”

Charles nodded. He didn’t keep any hangers in the hall. Anything that could drop and lay in his path was safely stored away. When his apartment wasn’t always flooded with visitors, at least. He kicked against a coffee mug in his bedroom doorway, too, and barely heard Erik’s hiss of alarm over his own muffled curses.

“I’m sorry,” Erik whispered, hovering close. “I went to hide by your bed when she knocked and I left it there, I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine,” Charles said. He patted the nearest part of Erik he could find; his collarbone. “Just, try to keep your stuff put away, okay? I’m not as careful here as I am out there.”

“Of course.” Erik drew away, no doubt to pick up the cup.

Charles gingerly put his foot down. The pain wasn’t so bad, so he limped over to the closet, fingering the hangers to find one that was free.

Erik’s fingers wrapped around his. “This one,” he said quietly, guiding Charles’ hands over.

“Thank you,” Charles said, just as quietly. He left Erik to go back to hiding next to Charles’s bed and took the hanger with him.

“Here you are,” he called, waggling it in the air on his stroll down the hall. 

“My coat is saved. Love, you are my favorite son,” she said, chuckling. “And don’t shout like that, my darling. It’s so crass.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.” Charles knew better than to hand her the hanger; he took her coat from her and laid it gently over the wooden beam.

“As you should be.”

When he turned towards her, frowning, she said pointedly, “You’re keeping things from me.”

“I-“ Charles cleared his throat. “I am?”

“Raven said you’ve met someone.”

Charles, panicked, made the most fundamental of mistakes, turning automatically towards the blur of Erik’s mind.

“And he’s here!” She clapped her hands. “Excellent. Bring him out.”

Charles hung the hanger onto his coat hook to stall for time. “Erik’s shy, Mother. Leave him be.”

She sniffed. “Is he not good enough, or am I not good enough?”

Charles knew a trap when he heard it. With a groan, he went to retrieve Erik from his hiding place. Erik clearly wasn’t pleased to be shown off, but he wasn’t particularly against it, either. He shied against Charles’s side while his mother looked him over, but he didn’t run away until Charles squeezed his arm to give him permission. Moments like that were when Erik most reminded Charles of Max the dog – obeying Charles because it was his solemn duty, no matter how much it was something he didn’t want to do.

“Well,” Charles’s mother said. “Are you going to offer me tea, then?”

“I shall,” Charles said, affecting her pompous tone. He got a swat to the arm for his trouble, and her following him into the kitchen to announce thoughtfully, “That boy would benefit from some socialization, my dear. The _right kind_ of socialization.”

Oh good Lord, no. “You’ll traumatize him for life, Mother.”

“Charles, darling.” She had a certain way of sounding like she was rolling her eyes, although he was sure she would never actually lower herself enough to do so. "Someone has to give him some fashion advice, at the very least."

"He's wearing my clothes," Charles replied, stung.

She patted his cheek. "I know, sweetie. You can pull it off. He - can't."

Charles – carefully – threw his hands up. “What would you have me do then? I’m clearly not qualified.”

He knew the words were a mistake the moment they left his mouth. But they were said, and his mother pounced on them immediately.

“I’m so glad you asked, sweetheart. We’ll go shopping. You’re in luck, I’m free the whole afternoon.”

Charles just barely held in a sigh. “No,” he said. “No, Mother. I do not want to go shopping.”

“Well, Charles, you need to. And that young man back there _certainly_ needs to. Come on. Chop-chop. Get him dressed.”

“No shopping! I’m serious.”

“So am I. Let’s go.”

Charles did sigh that time. “And what if Erik can’t afford the kind of clothes you deem appropriate, Mother, what then?”

“Then the ball is in your court.”

“Mother-“

“Charles, your father did not raise you to be stingy. He did not raise you to be selfish. Raven and I are very worried about you, and the least you can do is take your poor mother out for an afternoon so she can assure herself you’re well.”

Charles turned on the water heater just to give his hands something to do. “Can’t we just have tea?”

“Oh,” she said, delighted. “We can have tea at that little place downtown-“

“Okay!” Charles snapped. He felt her reproach settle over him like a cloud, and added, quieter, “Apologies. I’ll go with you downtown. We can have tea and you can shop.”

She laid a hand on his arm. He jumped at the unexpected touch, and then immediately felt guilty for it.

“You and Erik,” she said, a little stiffly. He knew what she sounded like when she was trying not to show she was hurt.

“Erik won’t have a good time. Just me. Please?”

“He seems like a lovely boy, sweetheart. I just want to get to know him a little.”

Charles huffed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll get him.”

* * *

Charles’s mother departed with a cheery wave, leaving them with several packages from up and down Fifth Avenue stacked by the couch and exhausted bags under their eyes, no doubt. She’d been pleasant enough while they did what she wanted, even if Charles had regretted his doormat tendencies all day. And Erik had behaved himself admirably well while several unfamiliar women huffed and tutted over his appearance. Still, Charles couldn’t blame him for having retreated to the bedroom the moment they returned home.

He was fairly surprised when Erik stomped out again a moment later.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Charles was quick to assure him.

“Then why does everybody always _say_ there’s something wrong with me?”

Charles wanted to promise that nobody said anything of the sort, but of course they did. Erik wasn’t stupid. Raven thought he was a golddigger, and Charles’ mother thought he was a badly dressed basket case, and random hotdog vendors on the street seemed to hate him. No doubt Charles’s students cast him some funny looks, too.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” he repeated firmly. “Most people are a little closed-minded, secretly or not so secretly. They can tell you’re not like them, so they talk about you. They talk about me, too.”

The vague sense of emotion he caught from Erik turned from irritation to anger.

“I don’t like them,” he said. “They shouldn’t be talking about me, and they shouldn’t be talking about you. And they shouldn’t be making me put on all those clothes to make me look different.”

Ah. Yes. Charles would have been surprised if that had gone down well. “No, they shouldn’t,” he said. “And I shouldn’t have let her. No one has the right to change who you are, Erik, alright? Do you understand that? I know my mother can be overwhelming, but she’s not the boss of you. If you like what you’re wearing now, then wear what you’re wearing now.”

Erik whined a little, a quiet sound he tended to make when things were getting to be too much for him. “I like _your_ clothes.”

Charles shrugged. “So wear _my_ clothes.”

Hesitantly, Erik came closer. “But you bought them all…”

"Look, Erik, you don’t have to wear any of it if you don’t want to. You don't have to make anybody happy but yourself."

"You do," Erik said quietly.

Charles laughed harshly. His thoughts flitted to Raven, to his mother, to Logan. "Trust me, I do nothing of the sort."

"You want to."

“I’m a people-pleasing push-over who takes too much after his father,” Charles said, caught somewhere between wryness and regret. “You really shouldn’t be taking any pointers from me.”

Erik scoffed. “So I ought to be taking after the people who take advantage of you?”

Charles was shocked into a laugh. "Barely six weeks as a human being, and you're already so cynical."

Erik shook his head. Charles could feel the movement in the air. Quietly, so quietly Charles wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear it, Erik said, “I don’t know how to be a human.”

* * *

Sometime around six, while Charles was clearing away dinner, there was a knock on the door. Erik went to answer it before Charles could rinse the soap off his hands, but he never came back. When Charles cast his mind out, he found him facing off against Logan. The other man was still on the doorstep, not trying to force his way in but certainly not about to leave, either.

With a sigh, he went out into the hallway. “Let him in, Erik.”

Erik growled but obeyed. Charles wasn’t sure where he slunk off to, radiating displeasure, but there wouldn’t be any harm in letting him sulk for a while.

“Come in, Logan,” he repeated, turning to the door.

Logan, at least, seemed more cautiously amused at the scene now. “Hello, Chuck,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

“So it has. Classes.” Charles bit his lip before he could offer any more excuses. He’d been busy, and they were casual, and Logan hadn’t initiated contact either, until now.

Now, though, Logan closed the door solicitously behind himself and toed off his shoes, but his thoughts were a swirling mess of confusion and irritation and a hint of resentment underneath his usual laid-back attitude. Charles returned to the living room, trying to get away from those feelings, but of course, Logan followed him.

“Out of curiosity: Were you going to tell me about the guy wearing your underwear?”

“He’s wearing my underwear?” Charles asked before he remembered himself.

“Only your underwear.” Logan dropped down on the couch with a heavy sigh. “He’s good-looking, by the way.”

“Lovely,” Charles said, not meaning it. “Tea?”

“Eh,” Logan said. “I could go either way, but if making it’ll make you feel better, go ahead.”

“So solicitous,” Charles grumbled to himself. Then he got up to make tea.

* * *

Logan took a sip, then set the cup down. “I’m kind of waiting for this guy to come back out, eventually,” he said. “He seems to feel pretty at home.”

Charles shrugged. How did one explain that, exactly? Particularly to one’s maybe-, would-be lover? “He’s here a lot,” he finally said.

“Wearing your clothes.”

Charles, who’d just about had enough of Logan’s passive-aggressive hinting, huffed. “My mother bought him some clothes, but I don’t think he likes them very much.”

“Aaand he’s met your mother.”

“You don’t want to meet my mother.”

Logan sighed. “Seriously, Charles. Who is this guy?”

Charles turned his face away. Why did everyone always think they had a right to his business? If Charles wanted to have an underwear-wearing young man at his place, that was his prerogative, wasn’t it? Certainly no one would object if Raven shacked up with a hot guy for a weekend, underwear or no.

But on the other hand, he oughtn’t resent them for wanting to take care of him. He ought to be grateful, hard as it was sometimes, that he had so many people around him, wanting to support him and make sure he was safe.

“There’s nothing going on,” he forced out. “The reason he looks to be so at home here is that it _is_ his home.” Logan didn’t understand, so he went on, rapidly, “It’s Max. He is. His name’s Erik now. There was a young woman – it doesn’t really matter.”

Logan was silent for a long time. Charles could feel all sorts of emotions flit by; surprise, disbelief, anger, amusement.

Finally, Logan shifted on the couch before settling again. His voice was dry. “Max is underwear-dude.”

Charles hesitated. “Yes.”

“The guy is your dog.”

“Yes.”

Logan was silent for a while. “You know, if it were anyone else telling me this, I wouldn’t believe it.”

Charles supposed he couldn’t really be offended, but he was, anyway. “I don’t lie to you.”

“No, you just get upset over a joke and don’t talk to me for three weeks.” Logan sighed before Charles had time to figure out a reply. “That was out of line.”

“Yes, it was.” Charles’ voice came out chilly. “Erik - _Max_ is an important part of my life. He may not like you, but that’s a small price to pay for how much my life has improved since he’s around.”

He flinched a little when Logan’s hand came down on his shoulder. Logan waited him out, waited for his shoulders to unclench and Charles’ body to turn a little towards him, before he wrapped his arm around Charles, leaned in to kiss Charles’ hair.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable about that,” he said quietly.

“It’s fine,” Charles said.

“It’s not.”

“It’s _fine_.”

Logan took his arm away. “Alright, already.” Annoyed, he said, “Do you want to go out and see one of your movies, or something?”

Charles stiffened. “Logan,” he said. “Listen, I love to spend time with you, I’d love to spend more time with you, but my spontaneous days are pretty much over, at the moment. Erik is my priority now.”

Logan snorted. “I guess you took what I said about boning your dog literally.”

Charles curled his hands tightly around his cup. “Logan, that is disgusting.”

“It’s a joke, Chuck,” Logan said. He sighed. “Look. You’re great.”

“But we don’t work,” Charles said, wry. “Do you want to skip the yelling and just be broken up?”

Logan snickered. “I don’t yell,” he said.

“Not like that, no,” Charles conceded. He set his cup down and pushed to his feet. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the door.”

“I’m not going to kiss you goodbye,” Logan said, when he’d slipped on his shoes. “Lord knows I’d be tempted to change my mind.”

Charles preened a little. “Likewise,” he said. He leaned against the open door. “Goodbye, Logan.”

“So long, Chuck.” Logan brushed past him on his way out the door. Out in the hallway, he hesitated.

Charles’s lips twisted a little. He wanted to say something glib, something about seeking comfort in Erik’s arms to show that he understood, he got it. But in the end, all he did was softly close the door.

* * *

Charles took Erik down to the waterfront that weekend, partly to distract himself and partly because he wanted Erik to experience new things. And people always talked about the view, even if, for Charles, the trip meant wandering about in the cold wind while other people enjoyed themselves.

Erik stood at the railing for a while, silent. “I’ve never been here,” he said.

Charles shook his head. “I wouldn’t have come here with you, no.”

“Do you not like it?”

Charles shrugged. It was flat open space with a barrier on one end and a road on the other, to him. The breeze was nice when it was hot out.

“I like it,” Erik said. “There are so many colors in the water. Everything looks so different now.”

Resigning himself to staying for a while, Charles leaned his back against the railing. Erik had his arms draped over the top of it like a child. One of them came over to nudge Charles’s shoulder, and Charles smiled.

“Look all you want.” He grinned. “I think we passed a hot dog stand earlier, if you get hungry.”

Erik laughed, a surprisingly infectious sound. “Was he angry?”

“I don’t know, we’ll have to find out.”

Erik nudged him again. “But you’re a te-“

“Telepath.”

“-telepath,” Erik agreed. “Didn’t you listen to his thoughts?”

“I try not to,” Charles said. “Did we pass a bench earlier? I think I’d like to sit down for a minute.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Erik tugged him over and nudged him onto the seat. It was colder sitting down, but the wind wasn’t as bad.

“Anyway. The thoughts: I try not to. I can’t always help it, but I always try.” He could sense the confusion radiating off Erik, so he added, “Some people think very loudly. Then I hear their thoughts if I want to or not. But I respect their privacy as best as I can.”

Erik mulled that over. “I don’t understand.”

“Come here for a moment,” he said, gesturing. When Erik leaned in close, he pressed his hands to Erik’s ears, trying to block out as much noise as he could. “It’s like that,” he said, once he’d taken his hands away. “I held your ears shut, and you could still hear the cars, and that kid yelling back there. That’s what it’s like. Even when I try not to listen, I can’t help overhearing if it’s too loud, and a lot of people think very loudly.”

“I always try to listen,” Erik said after a moment. “I have to know things, like if there’s someone at the door or a car coming or someone being angry. It’s hard now, with these ears, but I always try. Because I have to protect you, you know? That’s what I do. I always want to know how best to protect you.” He was quiet for a moment, as if he hadn’t just left Charles speechless.

“If I could listen inside their heads, I would.”

Charles smiled ruefully. “I think you’ll find most of them don’t like that.”

“Who cares.” Erik settled back onto the bench. “If people don’t like it, they can just stay away."

Charles laughed weakly. “Well then. I guess that explains why I have hardly any friends.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

Erik nudged his shoulder. “What about those people you wanted to eat fish with?”

“Sushi,” Charles corrected absently. He’d cancelled at the last minute, foreseeing disaster. In hindsight, he’s glad he did – Erik is only now getting the hang of forks. Five days human and chopsticks would have made a destructive combination.

“Those are Raven’s friends,” he explains. “We get along, but we wouldn’t go out together without her there.”

“That’s not friends?”

“Not really.” Charles smiled again. Human interactions must seem so complicated to Erik’s straightforward mind. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Erik. Max was pretty much my only friend.”

“Max _is_ your friend,” Erik said, with a vehemence that startled Charles. “I mean, I’m your friend. Right? I’m your friend?”

Charles reached out a hand. Erik’s palm was sweaty when he grasped it, but neither of them pulled away.

“I’d very much like to have you as my friend, Erik,” he said. He could feel Erik grinning when Erik pressed his face into Charles’s hair. A moment later, Erik’s free arm draped over his shoulders, tugging him snugly into Erik’s side.

Charles could only imagine what they looked like, wrapped up in each other on a solitary bench. He didn’t care. Comfortable and warm and with Erik’s long arm around him, he felt as safe as he ever had in Max’s presence. Being Erik’s friend, he decided, could only be a good thing.

* * *

_October_

“ _How’s the gold-digger_?” Raven asked, without a hello.

Well, there went Charles’s good mood.

“Charming,” he said. “Charming, Raven, really.”

“ _I’m calling it like I see it_ ,” she said. That was her usual excuse when she was being unspeakably rude. “ _You can think he’s your transformed dog if you want, and I’ll only call you an idiot most of the time, but you can’t seriously expect me to just – take it._ ”

“I was there when it happened,” Charles told her. “Trust me. I’m aware of what I ought to believe.”

Raven was quiet for a second, the prelude Charles had learned to expect when she was about to get personal. “ _Charles, you can’t see anything._ Anything _could have happened to Max, and all you have to go on are some feelings. Trust me. This dude is a sham_.”

Charles curled his lip in annoyance. After an entire childhood together, after his time at Oxford and his tenure as the youngest professor Columbia had ever seen, how idiotic did she think he was?

"I'm a telepath, Raven. It's notoriously hard to dupe me." Not to mention that most people tended to broadcast particularly strongly in his presence, like the fact that he was blind somehow hampered his ability to hear their thoughts. Lord knew he could do without some of the things he was subjected to on a regular basis. Max was Erik, or Charles was crazy.

" _But not impossible_ ," Raven insisted stubbornly.

Charles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "What will it take for you to let this go?"

" _Let me meet him. Properly,_ " she added before he could interject. “ _I won’t hurt him, if he’s really what you say he is._ ”

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. Raven didn’t have any way of _knowing_ what Erik was. Not a better one than Charles, in any case. But Raven was more stubborn than a mule, particularly if she thought Charles might be wrong about something, and she wouldn’t let this go for a long time.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’ll be there. What do you want to do?”

Raven didn’t even hesitate. “ _We’re going to_ Samurai _on Friday_ ,” she said. “ _Bring him_.”

“You want me to take a man you suspect to be an impostor to a club?”

Raven snickered. “ _Hey. Home field advantage_.”

* * *

Charles liked going clubbing, most days. A dark, dingy basement room required no eyesight to dance to its thumping beats, and usually wasn’t so crowded he couldn’t move freely. He didn’t drink enough to get obliterated, anymore, so it was usually good for a cheap, fun night that left him going home at some early hour in the morning with a smile on his face and his muscles pleasantly sore.

Usually, though, he wasn’t disoriented and on edge, and didn’t have a newly-human being to look out for. It didn’t help that he’d lost Erik to Raven’s friends within fifteen minutes of entering. Erik had stuck close before that, getting underfoot and almost tripping Charles and softly whining at the hectic noise. Then Jubilee and Kitty decided to drag him off to the bar to take shots, or something, and Charles hadn’t seen hair nor hide of him since. At least Raven had stuck close, for once, letting Charles know when she was going off to the bar and taking him with her when she wanted to giggle with her friends. Eventually, he’d relaxed enough to assure her that he was fine on the dancefloor while she went to get drinks with the rest of the group. She probably intended to grill Erik while she was at it, but Charles reminded himself that Erik was originally a Doberman Pinscher and perfectly capable of giving as well as he got, and just waved her away.

Four songs later, someone gripped his shoulder.

"Oh my god," Raven said, right in his ear. "Kitty's crying in the bathroom - something about her boyfriend, I don't know, I could barely understand half of it. I'm gonna try to calm her down. You'll be okay, right?"

Charles wasn't even sure where he _was_. "Where's Erik?" he said.

“Dunno,” Raven yelled back at him. “He’s fine, though. I’ll be right back.”

“Raven,” Charles called, exasperated. He gestured at his eyes. “A little help?”

“Oh, yeah.” Seizing him by the arm, she pulled him a couple of feet through the crowd. "Here's the bar," she said, laying his hand down on a flat, sticky surface. "Don't go anywhere, okay? I'll be right back."

She was gone before Charles could object, leaving him alone and disoriented in a place too loud to distinguish by sound, and too crowded to distinguish by minds. Charles clung to the bar and tried not to mind being jostled and shoved at by people who really should not be ordering any more alcohol in the first place. He tried not to notice, either, when more and more people got disgruntled at his presence blocking part of the valuable space at the bar, and turned his face away so none of them would try to give him pointed looks that he would then ‘ignore.’

Still, the jostling got worse, and Charles edged this way and that, trying to get out of people’s way without actually losing his place.

"You ordering anything, dude?" someone yelled in his ear.

Charles shook his head. A moment later, he was pushed aside, losing his grip on the bar and, a split second later, any sense of direction. When he put his hand out, he encountered the back of someone’s t-shirt. Charles drew back from the indignant complaint, muttering apologies. He bumped into someone else a moment later, and then again, and again, until large hands settled firmly on his shoulders.

“Charles.” It was Erik. “Come on, we’re going.”

“Where?” Charles yelled. He didn’t mind, though. Not at all.

“Tell you when we’re outside,” Erik called back. “But I think you’ll like it.”

* * *

Once they were outside, past the bored bouncers and walking briskly down the empty side streets with Erik’s elbow firmly in Charles’s grip, Erik blew out a sigh. He sounded oddly breathless.

“Kitty’s a vegetarian,” he said.

Charles waited for a moment. Their heels clicked sharply against the sidewalk. “Right,” he said.

Erik took another breath. “So she’s a vegetarian, and so is her boyfriend, except her boyfriend’s recently made friends with some really angry militant animal rights people, or something, and now he’s gotten all intense about everything. Watch the curb. And apparently they came by, but the boyfriend wanted to go hang out with his new best buddy instead, and they got into a huge fight and then she cried.” He shifted a little. “A lot.”

Charles took a bit of a step when Erik nudged him, to get up onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street. “Yeah, Raven mentioned that,” he said. “You’ve never seen someone cry, have you?”

“Who cares. My point is, the boyfriend’s new best friend is a - _teleporter_.” Erik reached over to pat the hand still clinging to him when Charles drew in a sharp breath. “ So he went off and Kitty was crying but he’d left his friend behind, one of his old friends? He said his old nickname was Meat Lover’s, or something, and now he can’t eat anything in front of the boyfriend because pizza is murder, or something. He talked about it a while, but it was loud and I didn’t really care. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Charles assured him. He squeezed Erik’s arm. “Tell me more about the teleporter.”

“Yeah, the teleporter. So Meat Lover was really annoyed and already talking so much so I asked him if he knew a girl who could do transformations, and he said _yes_ , and then he said he heard she’d said that she likes to hang out at the _Extra-vegan-za_ on Friday nights, and that’s tonight, so that’s where we’re going.”

Charles’s heart had started hammering wildly in his chest. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. “Last time we came across her – I mean, it didn’t go so well.”

Erik tugged him forwards, unrelenting. “It will tonight.”

* * *

Charles was a little uncomfortable, waiting between two dumpsters half a block from some vegan hippie bar in a dingy, half-dead neighborhood. Several times, he’d turned to Erik, a hopeful ‘Home?’ already on his lips.

“No,” Erik said, firm and forbidding.

“Erik-“

“No,” Erik repeated. “She’s coming.”

His hand covered Charles’s mouth before he could say anything.

“Come on, she’s alone. Come with me.”

Stumbling along at Erik’s side, Charles tried not to think on how creepy this was, the way they were following a single young woman down a dark alleyway. And, sure enough, it didn’t take long for her steps to speed up.

Erik’s hand tightened on Charles’s arm. Charles didn’t particularly like being dragged along, but he didn’t like anything about this whole thing, not even almost face-planting when Erik came to an abrupt stop.

“What - it’s you guys.” Jenny’s breath came high and panicked. “No, I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me alone.”

“Pity,” Erik said, with no compassion whatsoever. “Because we really want to talk to you.”

“If you try to hurt me, I’m – I’m gonna scream.”

Erik laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”

Before Charles had time to do more than take a startled breath, she let out a yell so piercing he instinctively tried to cover his ears. Then it cut off. There was a cry, the sound of something hitting the pavement, Erik snarling, Erik-

“Erik,” Charles yelped, trying to stave off disaster. “You can’t just – Erik! She’s a _woman_.”

Erik was breathing hard. “I don’t care if she’s a squid with three legs. She _kidnapped_ you.”

“They told me to,” she protested.

“I don’t care,” Erik snapped.

“Erik.” Charles held up a hand to stay him. Carefully, he followed the sound of Jenny’s shallow breathing and extended a hand. She took it after a moment, and he helped her to her feet.

“We will not start a two-on-one fight with a lone girl in an alleyway, Erik. We’re not thugs.”

“Why not?”

Charles could suddenly dearly sympathize with overwrought parents screaming, ‘Because I SAID SO.’ He desperately wanted to do the same, but he couldn’t. Erik lacked knowledge of human interactions, and if Charles didn’t take the time to explain, calmly and rationally, this entire confrontation might still take a horrible turn.

“Because that’s not how humans do things,” he said. He kept his tone as level as he could make it with his heart thumping the way it was. “We let people explain their actions. Remember, I told you we didn’t necessarily have to agree, we just have to listen?”

Erik huffed, annoyed. “There are a lot of rules to being human.”

“There are,” Charles said. “And a lot of them are very silly. But they’re important for everyone to live together the way we do, so we’re going to _follow them_.”

“Fine!” Erik stomped away, but he turned and came back before Charles could panic. “Fine. What do your rules say we can do, then?”

“Well,” Charles said, frowning in Jenny’s direction. “First, we’re going to be the bigger people and be polite and kind and not hurt her. And then _she_ is going to explain to us very kindly why she did what she did, and with who, and possibly confess what she’s been doing to the authorities. Are we all agreed?”

Erik scoffed.

Jenny let out a shrill laugh. “Ha! _No_.”

Charles turned his face in her direction, hoping he looked more stern than panicked. “Yes.”

“Or what?”

“Or you can go back to negotiating with him,” Charles said, waving a hand at Erik’s hulking form.

“Ugh.” She stomped her feet. “ _Fine_. Fucking fine already.” And then she turned and ran.

Erik swore – and just where had he learned those choice words, huh, _Raven_? – and started after her. His footsteps trailed away a few feet later when Charles, with a huff of annoyance, laid two fingers against his temple and stopped her in his tracks.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he said. “Erik, would you bring her back, please? Be careful.”

Erik seemed struck silent, but he obeyed.

“So,” Charles said, once he’d heard those nightmare boots settling back on the pavement in front of him. “Let’s talk, shall we? Who are you with, and what are your plans?”

“I’m not with anybody. Anymore,” she added quickly. “I’m serious, I got outta there. It was fun at first, you know, but then everybody started acting really weird. You know? They kept saying we needed to radicalize, and shit?”

Charles nodded. He wasn’t surprised they had, or that she’d bailed.

“Anyway, when that whole thing with exposing you as an animal abuser didn’t go anywhere, they started getting really mean, and being really mean to _me_ , and this one dude that I’d been-“

“Bear in mind you’ll also be telling this to the police,” Charles broke in.

“Aw, the cops?”

He glared at her.

“The cops. Fine. I’ll tell them whatever you want, that’s cool. But, yeah.” She sounded like she’d turned to Erik now. “I really thought it’d be funny, you know? I didn’t think they were trying to, like. _Ruin lives_.”

Charles sighed. He wasn’t surprised at that, either. “Even the most innocent of intentions can have awful consequences.”

“Yeah,” she said, heartfelt. “And, like, dude, I totally didn’t mean any harm, okay? They just said to do it and it’d be fun, and it was-“ She must have caught Charles’s glare, because she squeaked. “ _-sn’t_ , totally wasn’t, no _sir_ , but then I kind of felt bad after, you know? I mean, I can’t fight for animal rights and then turn you into a person without even asking you, that’s not cool. So, like.” She certainly sounded apologetic now. “I can turn you back, if you want.”

Charles bit down on his lip before he could protest. It wasn’t his call to make.

“Um,” Erik said. “I – I’m gonna think about it. If that’s okay?”

“Yeah, dude, totally. I live above that French fry place at the marina, you know? Come find me anytime.” She hesitated. “Do you think you can unfreeze me now?” she said quietly.

“Yes, of course.” Charles did so. He wasn’t surprised to hear her back away immediately.

“Come find me,” she called before she broke out in a run. Then: “And I’m not talking to the po-po, are you crazy?” And then she was gone.

Charles sighed. “You okay?” he asked Erik, who responded with a quiet, “Yeah.”

“Wanna go home?”

“Yes.”

Charles took a couple of steps towards him, then hesitated. “Are you gonna have her turn you back?”

When Erik’s hand found his, his fingers were sticky and cold. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

* * *

Charles spent several days on tenterhooks, waiting for Erik to announce that he wanted to go back to being a dog. Which would have been fine. Really, whatever he wanted.

Just… Charles would miss him.

Part of him wanted the moment to never come, and part of him wanted Erik to just make up his mind already, but Erik, it seemed, was in no such hurry. After almost a week of Erik not even mentioning the subject, Charles forced himself to relax. He had a routine. He had a life, and just because Erik was wreaking havoc all over it didn’t mean he suddenly had no obligations anymore.

Not to say that Erik changing up everything wasn’t kind of – fun.

* * *

“There’s a text,” Erik said, pushing under Charles’s arm. He still didn’t dare be on Charles’s bed when Charles wasn’t in it, but he’d started crawling up with him when Charles lay on it, running a finger over the pages of his braille books or listening to a podcast on his iPod.

At least he slept on the couch, now, rather than in front of it.

“Oh yeah?” Charles set his glass of wine down on the side table. He took the phone from Erik with one hand, lifting the other arm so Erik could wriggle underneath it. He tapped at the screen until a robotic voice read out, “ _Going to Lank-kas-tore to-nite eight o’clock wanna come – question mark. Both of you_ ”

“Both of us?” Erik asked.

“You and me, my friend.” Charles squeezed his shoulder. “Or you, rather. There’s not much to do at Lancaster’s other than drink, so I won’t be going.”

“You drink,” Erik said, twisting in Charles’s hold as though casting an accusing glance at the glass on the nightstand.

“Not that much. Anymore.” Charles pulled a face. "Being drunk and blind is one of the worst experiences I ever had. I don't care to repeat it."

With a soft whine, Erik pressed his forehead against Charles's shoulder. Charles, reaching over to lightly scratch at the thin skin behind his ear, found himself smiling despite the memory. "You're welcome to give it a go, yourself, if you want. It _is_ part of the human experience, after all."

Erik was silent for a while. "But then who will take care of you?" he asked finally.

Charles had to bite down a surge of annoyance. This wasn't some idiot off the street, after all, but Erik, whose very existence up to a few weeks ago had revolved around taking care of Charles.

"I'll manage for a night," he promised. "I'll stay in, read a little bit. Catch up on some work. You go have fun."

“Fun,” Erik said slowly.

“Yes, fun.” Charles shooed him off the bed. “Go get dressed. Make Raven happy.”

* * *

Charles had no idea what time it was when he woke up, but he could feel the sunshine through the window. The room hadn’t heated up yet. It was probably still early.

When he turned over, he brushed up against Erik’s body, Erik’s mind a moment later. Bewildered, he patted at Erik’s chest. He hadn’t fallen asleep on the couch, had he? There was no reason for Erik to be in his bed.

“Erik?” he said, confused.

There was a rustle of blankets as Erik sat up. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

Charles rubbed at his eyes, scraping off the sleepy crust. “Whatever for?” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re hurt,” Erik said.

Charles scrubbed at his face for a moment. “No, I’m not.”

Erik didn’t reply, just gently pressed his fingertips against Charles’s temple. Pain jolted through him all the way to his toes, and he groaned.

“Oh, I forgot about that,” he groused. “But thank you ever so much for reminding me.”

“What happened,” Erik repeated, firmer now.

Charles sat up as well. “Bit of a household accident,” he said. “It happens sometimes, it’s not a big deal. You certainly didn’t have to guard my sleep over it.”

He was getting annoyed, now, grumpy and still half-asleep, but pointing a stern finger at Erik anyway. Erik caught his hands in a firm grip.

“What. happened.”

“There were a pair of shoes in the hall,” Charles said. “I tripped and hit my head on the coat hook.”

He very carefully didn’t mention it had been Erik’s shoes, but he didn’t seem to have to. Erik made a distressed sound, fingers coming to rest on Charles’s cheekbones but shying away from the bruise. It wasn’t _that_ bad, Charles didn’t think. Sure, it hurt like hell, but it hadn’t bled or anything.

“I did that,” Erik said.

“ _No_ , you weren’t even here.” Charles couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice.

In any case, Erik was already drawing away from him, releasing first his face and then his hands and then slipping out of bed entirely.

“Erik?” Charles tilted his head to the side to better hear what he might be up to, but he seemed to just be standing there, breathing hard. “Erik, what’s going on?”

“I don’t want to be a person anymore.”

* * *

Charles left Erik at home, the next morning. He’d been in a funk the rest of the day, apparently worsened by the fact that Charles didn’t know what to say to make it better (and also by the fact that Charles was a little bit hurt). He’d begged off when Charles made sure to ask him if he wanted to come, and so Charles took just his cane, intending on asking Moira to be his TA for the day. And it all went fine, even though he could feel the curiosity at the change from his students; the concern. It was all fine until he came home and Erik wasn’t there.

“Erik?” Charles called from the open doorway, even though he knew it wasn’t necessary. There wasn’t anyone in his apartment. _No_ one. Even if he couldn’t read Erik the way he could other people, he could still tell when he was there, and he wasn’t. He wasn’t in the living room, and he wasn’t in the cupboard, and he wasn’t in the bedroom when Charles, foolishly, stooped down like he might be able to peer under the bed.

"Erik?"

There was no reply. Forehead creased, Charles tapped his cane against the floor a few times. He did another few turns around the apartment, like perhaps Erik had learned how to conceal his presence with the shower curtain, before he found himself in the kitchen, idly sweeping his hands over the empty island, looking for a note or a letter or a post-it.

He knew how ridiculous he was being. Even if Erik knew how to write, and Charles realized abruptly that he’d never tried to find out, he knew very well that Charles wouldn’t be able to read it. Charles sat down at a kitchen stool and put his head in his hands, suddenly exhausted.

Erik would either come back or he wouldn’t. And the only way to find out was wait.

* * *

He didn’t.

* * *

Two days later, one of his students finally asked after Erik. Charles couldn’t quite figure out if she was sweet on Erik or sweet on Charles, and kept his answers curt. Yes, Erik was fine. No, he didn’t know when Erik would be back. Yes, he had somewhere to be; please keep questions for next class, or email him if it was urgent. _Urgent_.

Raven called him when he’d just come home, irrational hope fading into despair, with just a bit of anger. Damn Erik for leaving him like this, anyway. Charles had done nothing but be there for him from the start. If Erik wanted to get away from him, he could have just said so. If he’d decided to get himself turned back, Charles could have helped.

His ringtone interrupted his dark musings. His grim reply tipped her off immediately, and from there, it only took her a handful of questions to figure out the problem. Charles grit his teeth when she crowed with grim satisfaction.

“ _I_ told _you so!_ ” she cried. “ _I knew there was something fishy about him from the start, but noo, you didn’t want to hear it. And now look where you are._ ”

Charles bit his lip to keep from reminding her that she’d obviously deemed Erik safe enough when they went out without him. “Leave it, Raven,” he said instead. 

She scoffed. “ _Oh, don’t tell me you’re still defending him. He shows up under highly suspicious circumstances, acts like a creep for weeks doing God knows what right under your nose, and now you don’t think it’s even a little bit strange that he’s run off on you? Come on, Charles. Use that enormous brain, for once._ ” 

"I don't care, Raven!” Charles burst out. “I don't care. I say it's fine, and if you don't have the good grace to trust me, then you will damn well keep your mouth shut about it." 

She was silent. Charles didn’t need to be a genius or a telepath to tell that he’d offended her. He hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t wanted to, but he refused to take back what he’d said. He was old enough to know what he was doing, or at the very least have earned the right to make his own terrible decisions, and it was high time for her to accept that. 

“ _Fine_ ,” she said, finally. “ _If you don’t want my advice-_ “ 

“I don’t.” 

She sucked in a sharp breath. 

Charles surged on before he could change his mind. “I don’t, Raven. I love you and I always want to know what’s on your mind, but if I want your advice, I will damn well ask for it. Okay? I am an adult, I’m a university professor and I was having sex when you were still giggling over the Backstreet Boys, and I know when someone means it, Raven, and when they’re just after the glory.” 

He gentled his voice a little. “I’m not trying to be mean, sweetheart, alright? You can be very helpful, and if I’d like your advice I promise to ask for it. But not in this. In this, I know what I’m doing, and you do not.” 

She was silent, still. 

“I love you,” he said hopefully. 

She hitched a breath. “ _Fine_ ,” she growled. “ _Whatever. Don’t come crying to me when he screws you over._ ” 

Charles smiled wryly. He had his doubts he’d ever even _see_ Erik again, let alone be screwed over by him, but in the end, none of that changed anything. What he’d said to her still stood. 

“Raven,” he reminded her. 

“ _Yeah, yeah,_ ” she said. “ _I love you, too._ ” 

____

* * *

_November_

It was still nice out, for the most part. Fall warmth hadn’t given up the ghost for good, yet, but a chilly wind had started blowing, making Charles turn up his collar against the cold. He didn’t try to stop himself from wondering about Erik; where he was, how he might be getting by. However his meeting with Jenny had turned out, Charles hoped he was somewhere safe.

He found his bench in the park, across the street from an angry hotdog vendor – seemed like they were all angry these days – and sat down. He knew there was a pond just across the way, but things like that didn’t affect him much. The air was nice, here, and the street noises distant. People were more relaxed. He’d come here as a treat for ~~Erik~~ Max, because Charles would have been almost as content sitting on any street corner.

A bark nearby startled him a little. He’d have to get a new guide dog soon, or perhaps hire an assistant, after all. He started again when the hot dog man gave a surge of annoyance. He was generally an angry man, but now he was upset at having almost been bowled over; bowled over, no less, by a large, intimidating creature bounding past him. It slowed only a few feet later, making the man even angrier, but Charles didn’t care anymore after that. He knew that consciousness, that being, that familiar sense of presence that Charles couldn’t read but recognized, nonetheless. He hardly dared believe it when it came closer, and closer, and finally, gently, bumped against his knee.

Charles put his hand out. He got a wet nose to the palm for his troubles, and then a tongue, and then the dog pushed between his legs, close enough for Charles to pet him.

Charles ran his fingers up those long, familiar ears, down the elegant snout. The dog’s mind was familiar, too, in a way – not the way human Erik’s had been, in the end, but he still remembered how it had felt at first, that affectionate, impenetrable sense of consciousness. Slowly, he slid off the bench, putting himself at a height with the creature.

“Hello, Stranger,” he said softly. He reached up to scratch at the dog’s ears, rub at his neck. His eyes were stinging, and so was his throat, and when he tried to hide both in the dog’s soft fur, he got a concerned whine in reply. Softly, Charles whispered, “You came back to me, huh?”

“I was thinking we could call him Max,” someone said.

Charles sat up. “Erik?” he asked, turning his ears this way and that.

“Hello.” He came closer, then. Now that he was aware of Erik’s presence, Charles could feel him, too, feel his cautious joy, his insecurity, his confusion. There wasn’t much more he could read, not without delving deep, but now, with the two beings side by side, Charles could recognize the differences, too. Differences between Erik as a dog, and – and _Max_ , as a dog, like a certain unsureness in Max’s stance, and a desire to please, whereas Erik had been all brash self-confidence. Small differences that Charles would not have noticed individually.

He got to his feet. “Erik,” he said.

He was a little speechless, speechless and overwhelmed. Erik seemed to take that as hesitation, because he said, voice small, “I picked him up at the pound, because he reminded me of me. If you don’t like him, I could – well, I couldn’t take him back, but give him to someone else, maybe. But I thought perhaps we could train him up a little.” Charles could hear him swallow. “He’s pretty young, for all that he’s so big. He might not ever be a perfect guide dog, but I figure he could learn to help out, anyway.”

“I don’t care if he chews up my slippers for the rest of my life,” Charles assured him.

“Oh,” Erik said. “I-. That’s a good thing, right?”

“An excellent thing.” Charles stepped closer, and so did Erik, until they were close enough to touch, to embrace, to breathe each other’s air. Gently, Charles reached for Erik’s hands, holding them loosely at his sides.

“You’re here,” he said, breathless. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Erik said. He laughed a little. “Yes. I wasn’t going to, you know. I was gonna-“

“Find Jenny,” Charles supplied, heart still pounding. “Get turned back.”

“Yeah.” Erik squeezed his hands. “I thought I could protect you better as Max, because I know what to do as your guide dog, and not what to do as your guide… human. So I went to find her. And then I remembered that I could protect you from her when I was a person, and I couldn’t do _anything_ as a dog. I was just confused then, and scared, but when we saw her again I was big and tall and she was scared of me.”

“You are,” Charles assured him. He lifted Erik’s hands and cradled them to his chest. “Big and tall. And you always protect me, as a dog _and_ as a person.”

“Better as a person,” Erik insisted. “And I said that to her. I told her that I was angry with her but that I didn’t want her to turn me back. And then she bought me a coffee. She said she was sorry.” He sounded bewildered. “And that she wouldn’t do it again, unless she really, really wanted to.”

Charles choked on a laugh. “I suppose that’s the best we’re going to get, from her.”

“I don’t care,” Erik said. Charles could feel him shrug. “I don’t care what she thinks.” He cleared his throat. “But I’d like us to be friends, if you want us to?”

“I do,” Charles assured him.

And they were.


End file.
